Coming of Age
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: Because the most special time of a young girl's life is her sixteenth birthday. [Group ensemble character study, mostly Crabtree-centric. Common Life AU series. Gemily, Jilliam, OC/OC, implied MTB and Riggins. Rated T. Complete]


A/N: First of all, let me apologize for the length of this. It's character study based around the five Crabtree girls (descending in age: Violet, Rose, Holly, Sage, and Aster) in my Common Life AU series; some entries are longer than others, and so it wouldn't make much sense to publish as a chapter fic. Anyhow-the most special time in a teenage girl's life is her sixteenth birthday, or at least that's what the movies have led me to believe. Because of my faith, I never had the party, but I've always wanted one. And then this happened.

Let it be known that if you haven't read at least a few of the other stories in this AU series you'll be missing out on a lot of key details, but most of it stands alone. I couldn't resist William's dancing or the stint in jail, and I know it is a bit OOC, but makes sense in context. I promise. You'll see when you get there.

I'm proud to announce my next chapter fic which I am currently researching, a canon divergence taking place at the St. Louis World's Fair in 1903. And finally, a shout out to Bryn Elizabeth, whose charming story _The Crabtree Girls_ is keeping me in stitches. Please give it a read if you like these kinds of Gemily AU stories.

 **Coming of Age**

 **June 1921**

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Rose groused, leaning over the vanity to adjust her veil.

Her younger sister elbowed her sharply as they fought for real estate before the mirror. "Don't say things like that. You saw yourself how much she's enjoying this. Let Violet have her moment."

Sighing dramatically, the fifteen year old turned and collapsed into one of the many chaises in the powder room, not particularly minding the downy pillows tousling her hair. She didn't particularly care if she appeared disheveled before greater Toronto society, or if their parents wanted their oldest daughter to make a proper debut. This wasn't their family. It wasn't _Violet_.

"I don't like how they look at us, like father is some charity case because he didn't have one son. He's highly ranked in the city's masonic chapter, and a police detective to boot. And he's not the kind to marry us off, so I don't see the point in all of this pomp and circumstance," she protested, watching Sage examine her reflection, turning this way and that. The fourth Crabtree daughter was only twelve, but fancied herself a lady. And because she was jealous of her ability to avoid complaining about recent events, Rose said, "Momma will kill you if you go out there wearing that much rouge."

After a few seconds more of inspection, Sage decided that she was right and went about dabbing at her cheeks and lips with a handkerchief. "You're just sore because you're grounded for that stunt you pulled with Felix."

As much as she didn't want to admit it, her social calendar had been forcibly cleared for the past week and the next three. Save for school and church, she wasn't allowed to see young master Murdoch, all because of a woeful misunderstanding that had resulted in their fathers' precinct getting involved.

On a lark, Felix and several neighborhood lads had invited her to walk down with them to the docks. They had an inkling to do something rebellious, and she was more than game to participate. They'd broken into a supposedly abandoned warehouse, only to discover that it was filled with a soon to be shipped stock of cigars. They'd stopped to partake, the flare of their matches attracting the attention of a constable on beat. The rest had been history, as they'd been confined to their rooms and Inspector Murdoch's son had scaled the great oak tree beneath her window nearly every night so they could converse in secret. Last Saturday, she'd even kissed him on each flushed cheek, nearly causing the boy to lose his footing and fall to the ground. The next night he'd asked her to be his sweetheart and she'd hurriedly said yes before he could think otherwise. There hadn't been much discussion of the topic since, for both families had been consumed with preparations for the party.

Rose soon realized that she couldn't argue with Sage and stood with a harrumph. The Queen's Hotel was known to host multiple events at once, and they couldn't be caught holding up the line for the rest of the ladies.

In the main ballroom, Violet was deep in conversation with the object of her sister's affections. For the past hour, she'd enjoyed dancing with nearly every eligible young man in the room, as a majority of her secondary school had turned out for the event along with their parents. She'd exchanged air kisses with the grown women and shook hands with their husbands at the behest of her etiquette teacher, and was every inch the perfect hostess. After waltzing with her Uncle William, who most certainly had two left feet, she'd gratefully allowed his wife to accept the next dance. If her father's stories were to be believed, the Murdochs had once been a mismatched couple on the dancefloor, but she had trouble believing it as they gracefully led each other around the floor. Perhaps it was that _she_ was a poor dancer, or they just fit together.

"If you're going to ask her to dance, I'd do it as soon as she got back," she advised, taking a seat next to the boy with whom she was only one month removed in age.

Felix shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his crooked glasses. He was dressed to the nines in a charcoal suit that was nearly an exact copy of his father's, save for a colorful handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket. As he leaned back in his chair, the end of his leg brace came into view; this was perhaps the reason he found himself unfit to take the floor, for he'd carried this handicap almost since birth. "I asked her to go steady, but I haven't sought permission from your father. Perhaps I ought to do so before I even consider it."

"For heaven's sake, enough excuses! I've just danced with half the young men our age in this room. Do you mean to imply I'm going with all of them?" She exclaimed, smoothing down the plaits in her white gown. "You've been sweet on Rose since we were children. Why not let everyone know? You're asking her to waltz, not to marry you!"

He didn't have time to respond, for from the opposite end of the room her mother was rapping a fork against her wine glass. Once the crowd had quieted down, she raised her goblet and began, "I'd like to propose a toast to my firstborn daughter, Violet Ruth Crabtree, and the lovely young woman she's become." There was an echo of _hear, hear_ and polite clapping. "I'm pleased to announce that she will be following in my footsteps, for she has chosen to study medicine at the University of Toronto next fall."

Violet stood at once and curtsied to her mother, who was undeniably one of the most respected female doctors in the province. There were a series of hushed exclamations of wonder, for this meant that she would be subverting marriage and a traditional social track in favor of a college education. Emily beamed, taking a sip of wine. The floor was now her husband's, who appeared in that moment very close to tears.

"For the past sixteen years, it has been my honor to watch my oldest daughter grow older, trading in her dolls for schoolbooks. Whatever path she chooses, I am sure she will make her mother and father proud," George said rather quickly, before turning and retrieving a rectangular box from the table behind him. He then gave his wife a mournful look, which she interpreted as a call for assistance.

Looping her arm through the crook of his elbow, together they approached where she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sage and Rose scamper back into the ballroom. Beside her, Felix swallowed loudly; Violet sat back down with a thud.

"As most of you know, in these parts it has become tradition to present a young girl with her first pair of high heeled shoes on her sixteenth birthday. This was last Thursday for Violet, but I'm sure she will indulge us this," Emily announced to the crowd, then offered her daughter a secretive smile. They'd spared no expense in this gift, as they would go on to do with their other four daughters. The white box, stamped with the Eaton's logo, was drawn up with a silver ribbon. Violet knew that inside lay the most exquisite pair of pumps in the subtle shade of eggshell, for she'd selected them from the catalog herself.

She kicked off her slippers and allowed her father to replace them with the new pair. Standing with the help of her parents, she tottered uneasily on her feet momentarily, stepped out, and turned three hundred sixty degrees. The adults in the room smiled to see the jubilant look on her face, her immaculately styled brown curls bouncing as she stepped out onto the floor. And no one had to know that she'd clandestinely practiced in her mother's church heels for weeks beforehand.

Her first dance as an adult woman belonged to her seven year old sister, who was at her side as soon as the needle was put back on the phonograph. Aster was awestruck at how grown up she looked, and Violet was surprised at just how different the world looked from three inches higher. Over the shoulder of her second dancing partner, she was sure to make her suggestion known to Felix, pointing to him and the gesturing to Rose, who stood alone in the corner with several of her school friends.

Al Jolson's _Avalon_ was being played through one of the largest horns Felix had ever seen, filling the entire ballroom with sound. He knew that it was his girl's favorite tune, for she often sang it in a soft falsetto as they walked to school every morning. He was of the opinion that she had a lovely voice, and wondered if she dreamed of him from dusk 'til dawn, just as the song said.

Holly and Sage were apparently also in on their sister's plan, for they'd spotted him and were making their way to his table. With some difficulty, he stood and began to hobble his way over, for he didn't want to suffer the wrath of the Crabtree girls for the second time that day.

As he approached, Felix strived his mightiest to hold eye contact with his sweetheart. This was difficult, as he was eternally subconscious of what he perceived to be his lumbering gait produced by his shriveled leg. He thought he was no dashing Prince Charming; heaven knew what she could see in him. All the same, her friends grew quiet as he stopped before them, bent at the waist, and asked Rose for a dance.

She tittered nervously, dropping her voice to a nearly indetectable volume. "Felix, you don't know how to dance."

This was true, for they were far from their senior year in school and mandatory etiquette classes. He imagined that he'd sit out for those lessons, too, as his classmates learned the fine art of the waltz and foxtrot. But that didn't matter at the moment; they'd have to be embarrassed together. "Neither do you," he answered, and was relieved when she took his hand.

Because he'd been making careful watch of his parents dancing earlier in the evening, Felix knew to place his hand between Rose's shoulder blades, the other holding hers at eye level. Carefully, he lead her around the perimeter of the floor, stepping in time with the music.

"What happened to your spectacles?" She asked at last in an attempt at small talk.

He wrinkled his nose, pushing them farther up in the process. This, coupled with the shag of sandy blonde hair hanging over his eyes, created a petulant look that Rose found most charming. "I bent them out of shape when I almost fell out of the tree outside your-"

She shushed him, laughing softly. It occurred to him that she must have known, for she wouldn't have asked but to poke fun at him.

When the song ended, she was very near to stepping out of the circle of his arms. Felix wasn't sure he could handle seeing her dance with another gentleman, so he blurted out, "I meant what I said when I asked to be your beau."

After a long pause, she affirmed quietly, "I know." Her head came down to rest in the crook of his neck, where it stayed as the next ballad was cued up on the phonograph. "And I want you to be."

 **August 1922**

"I don't know about this," Holly called from her perch at the bay window. "There are clouds gathering out west."

"Don't be a spoilsport. We've been planning this for months," came the reply from the kitchen, where her sisters were busy loading a picnic basket with every manner of indulgence and sweet treat. They intended to dine in the park, for it was finally the time of year where the winds coming off of Lake Ontario began to rid the city of its sickly summer haze. Due to a national holiday, there had been a half day off from all schools in the city. Violet had even made the trek from uptown for the occasion, and she would stay in her childhood bedroom for the remainder of the weekend. It wasn't every Saturday that one of her younger sisters turned sixteen.

The actual festivities were to be conducted the day of, wherein an intimate group of their closest friends would descend upon their sitting room for a rousing evening of parlor games. While her younger sisters were convinced that Rose had decided upon the event so that she could cuddle up to her sweetheart and get red in the face from spirits filched from their parents' liquor cabinet, it was still less formal than Violet's debut, and for that they were grateful.

Aside from the traditional white shoes and a three layered chocolate cake, Rose had hand selected a half dozen brand new jazz records from the music store uptown for her gifts. Where there was music, there was sure to be dancing, and there the second oldest Crabtree would follow. She'd taken an inexplicable liking to it over the past year, heaven knew why.

Knowing that they were just as likely to join the traveling circus than listen to her eyewitness weather report, the fourteen year old stood and went to join the rest of her sisters. On her way, she almost ran headlong into Aster, who was toting a hair brush and a handful of pins. This almost certainly meant that Sage was sitting on the countertop, prepared to braid. All but the youngest had shed their girlish pigtails for more elegant upswept styles, and Violet was even considering adopting a stylish chin length bob not unlike the ones she'd seen in the moving picture shows.

For good measure she tousled her little sister's hair before entering the kitchen, where the oldest was dwarfed by the largest basket Holly had ever seen. As she watched, in went jars of fruit preserves and slices of their Aunt Margaret's cinnamon bread. And then the mastermind of their excursion appeared behind it, a supper spoiling ice lolly tucked between her lips.

"Where's-"

"On the telephone," Violet mumbled around her treat, and sure enough, she could barely make out Rose's form standing in the foyer.

"-mother and father?" she finished, for it was getting late and both were due home from the constabulary.

The medical student shook her head. "I was told they went out for the evening, and we'd ought to enjoy ourselves ahead of the big day tomorrow. When I called ahead to confirm this, I was told by mother's assistant that they were off to The Junction for drinks to commiserate. Something about feeling old."

While George and Emily were attentive and devoted to their daughters, they still possessed the spirit of youth that made them more willing to seek adventure than other couples. They were known to drink in the comfort of their own home, but never to overindulge, which was the sole person one might have for heading to that part of town. For that reason, Holly was doubtful. "Rebecca isn't known to gossip."

"So this must be serious," Violet retorted, a knowing smile adorning her features.

At last Rose joined them, rubbing her hands together and beaming from ear to ear. From her vantage point on the cabinet, Sage remarked, "I know that look. Someone's just spoken to their sweetheart."

"Just squaring things away for tomorrow night. Felix has agreed to bring his parents over for dinner," Rose explained.

"Gee, looks like someone isn't going to be able to accidentally rub shoulders with him during blind man's bluff." Violet teased, sealing their picnic basket for transit.

Giggling behind her palm, Holly asked, "Could you blame her?"

Over the course of the past year, Inspector Murdoch's son had grown six inches, acquiring a bit of confidence in himself and a rakish glint in his eye. Certainly, Rose was the envy of every girl at school; any one of them would have killed to be seen on his arm. Among these admirers was her littlest sister Aster, who sighed and said, "I think he's dreamy."

"That's enough out of you," Rose wagged her finger in mock offense. "Now we'd better be off before it starts to rain."

After several hours of sitting in the park in the shade of their favorite willow tree, gossiping and people watching, the sisters were indeed surprised by a sudden downpour. As they trudged through the twilight, becoming more and more soaked to the skin as they went, Violet threatened, "If I hear one word of _I told you so_ from you, Holly, I swear I will whip you into next week."

Holly was past the point of gloating. The afternoon had been warm, but she was now experiencing a sudden chill. Holding her hands in the air, she conceded defeat.

Several men in streetcars and even an old hold out from the days of covered carriages offered them a ride, but Violet had rejected that proposal on the principle. She was the leader of their brigade, and would suffer the indignity of the situation silently.

Only Rose and Aster seemed to be in good spirits, holding hands and skipping along the cobblestone pathway. They sang a little ditty as they went, pausing to jump in puddles every city block. It was as they rounded the corner that they very nearly bowled over a constable on patrol.

Instead of apologizing, Rose stepped into the circle of his umbrella and vigorously shook hands with one of their father's dearest and oldest friends. "Constable Higgins! It's a pleasure to see you again."

"How do you do, ladies," he replied, the corners of his mustache twitching in amusement. Over the years, Henry's wit had only been challenged by his burgeoning waistline; he was great fun at social gatherings, with plenty of platitudes from his years on the beat. "Is this a special occasion?"

Violet frowned and hid their picnic basket and its ruined contents behind her back. "Yes, sir. We're celebrating Rose's birthday ahead of time, but the weather had other plans. Shall we count on you and your wife gracing us with your presence at dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Certainly, I am looking forward to it. Say, Holly, my son says that he came to call yesterday afternoon. Did you happen to notice Seth on your front stoop?"

She cleared her throat, desperately trying to think of something else to get rid of the red color rising to her cheeks. Her suitor was nothing but persistent, and he used the fact that his younger sister was good friends with Aster to come around as often as he pleased. The truth was that she'd been avoiding being seen with him around her sisters, who would tease her mercilessly if they knew she was going steady with the son of a family friend. Like Rose was any better!

"Never mind that," Higgins came to her rescue, for he knew the ways of young people in love. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station house."

Violet was suddenly concerned. "Is there some trouble?"

He was clearly torn over whether this was the case. Finally, Henry shrugged and said, "Sort of." Without another word, they turned and followed him up the street.

The girls were grateful to escape the rain and seek refuge in the dry enclave of the station house. The radiator in the corner was on full blast despite the season, and each placed their hands before it as a matter of habit before following Higgins into the bullpen.

"It started as an elaborate prank of your father's. He's been speaking of it all week, how he'll finally get his dear wife back for the mayonnaise incident. But seeing as they were both tipsy when they were found, we decided to round them up and have a bit of fun ourselves," Constable Jackson explained from his desk in front of their father's office, which was locked and shut tight for the evening.

Whatever each of them thought that meant, the story became a little clearer as they rounded the corner into the cell block. There both of their parents sat in adjoining cells, looking a bit disheveled and thoroughly guilty. Seeing as they'd already been dragged ten blocks through the rain to take part in the constable's childish scheme, Violet decided to play along.

"What have you gotten yourselves into?" She asked, affecting a stricken guise.

Their father stood with all the grace of a newborn colt and staggered over to the bars of his cell. "I'm not quite sure. Are you here to bail us out?" To his credit, he looked a little ashamed to be in this situation, even if he was slurring his words prodigiously.

"Don't be silly, George," Emily chastised loudly, "They're here to poke fun at us, like animals in a cage at the zoo." Somehow their mother's hair had fought its way out of its pins, hanging around her shoulders in loose waves.

"We caught these two rabble rousers engaged in very public displays of affection in the alleyway behind Murphy's Tavern. I'm sure we don't need to mention to either of them that witnessed drunkenness is a misdemeanor offense within city limits." Henry made a show of pacing the length of the block, tapping his police baton into his palm. "We thought we might leave them in here a few hours to contemplate their actions, but seeing as you were in the neighborhood…"

"Mother, this is shameful," Rose interrupted with such emotion that her sisters weren't sure she wasn't actually mortified on their behalf. "And on the eve of my birthday, nonetheless."

"We meant to be home by nine," Emily wondered through the haze of her alcohol addled brain how their attempt to have fun like the good old days could go so awry.

Their father squinted, trying to make sense of the three swarming images of his daughter before him. He reached for the middle one and struck his knuckles on the iron bars. Face twisting in a comedic display of pain, he said, "We're sorry, girls. How's about we make it up to you?"

It was a game they played, for it was likely that at least one of the girls was being punished at any time for a variety of infractions. More often than not it was breaking curfew or shirking chore duties; George would perform a series of embarrassing tasks to appease them, such as wearing a shoe on his head for the entirety of a meal or doing push ups while Aster sat on his back. It was meant to even the score, although it mostly served to ease the tension between warring parties.

Rose seemed to ponder this for a moment, then her lips split in a smirk that was only on display when she was scheming something. "What about a round of desserts at Minnie's Tea Room?"

They knew there would be little resistance to this, even as Mr. Crabtree winced at the anticipation of the bill from this excursion. He soon agreed to it, and the tipsy couple was released from the confines of their cells.

As the newly reunited clan made their way out of the stationhouse, Sage thought she heard her father mumbling something about his constables having hole digging duty for a month. But, then again, she couldn't be quite sure.

 **December 1924**

"Behind you!" Holly called out as she whipped around two hunched figures, rounding the bank of Riverdale Pond with breakneck speed. Secretly, she relished the sensation of the wind biting at her skin through her fur lined parka, the twin blades at the bottom of her leather runners barely making contact with the ice. It had taken some time for bodies of water within the city to freeze over because of a later than average frost, but she'd been waiting with anticipation for the second big snowstorm of the season to pass. The third Crabtree daughter had temporarily traded in her white heeled shoes for seven pairs of pick tipped shoes and their wheeled detachments, all her very own for a day's rent.

Her birthday was in the second week of the month, close enough to Christmas that she often felt cheated out of a proper party. However, the fact that her sixteenth fell in the middle of the week wasn't going to stop her from having a great time out of doors.

Out of the corner of her eye, Holly saw her father struggling to right himself after a fall that knocked the wind out of him. He still wore his three piece suit, felt coat open and necktie flapping. George Crabtree made quite the humorous picture as he made his way around the circle of the pond, leaning against his long-suffering wife for support. More proficient skaters passed them with ease, including ten-year-old Aster.

"Go faster, daddy," she encouraged, unknowingly rubbing salt into the wound. Rose and Sage soon followed, arms linked together around their fur muffs. Each of the girls wore black stockings under their drop waisted frocks for warmth; as she turned a figure in the center, Holly caught sight of fragments of ice clinging to her legs. She never felt quite as free as when she was out on the ice, with little to hold her to earth. It was like she could leave the ground at any moment and take flight, ignoring the future that awaited her the moment she left high school.

There was little use in pretending she was as conventionally smart as Violet, who had managed to tear herself away from her books for just an hour to attend. Nor was she as creative as Rose, who stored sky-scraping castles and wondrous magic within her imagination. There was no doubt her older sisters were going to be a physician or a best selling author; Sage and Aster were a mite too young to be concerned over university entrance exams or aptitude tests, and for that she envied them. Perhaps she wasn't destined for such responsibility. After all, the telephone company was always hiring.

A flash of red caught her attention, and Rose was there, all vibrant lipstick and matching coat. Leave it to the most perceptive member of their clan to pick up on her anxiety. "What do you say we put on our Plimpton skates and roll into the city?"

"I ought to say yes," she replied, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Ten minutes later, Holly was giving chase through the streets of Toronto. She was keen to stay out of the streets for she'd be sooner flattened by a streetcar than gain advantage, but try as she might every time she turned a corner she _just_ lost sight of Sage's shock of auburn curls.

There were relatively few rules to their game, which amounted to a larger than life round of hide and go seek through the alleyways and awnings of Cabbagetown. If they were keen not to cross anyone's path or get in the way, no one would be the wiser that girl who were too old to be doing this sort of thing _were_ , and with aplomb.

As she turned onto Winchester Street, Holly nearly collided with a paperboy and a gentlemen on a bicycle. The ice clinging to the sidewalks made for perilous movement, so she made sure to reach out to the nearest light post or brick wall for support. The grounds of the municipal park were nearing, and she hadn't seen any one of her sisters for several minutes. Out of habit, she slowed, her pace becoming stately to match those of the couples walking along the footpaths. Ahead, there was a snowbank created by the natural curvature of the land. A stocking cap appeared at its top momentarily, and then disappeared. Holly didn't have a good feeling about this.

The four of them emerged simultaneously, each with ammunition. These were the fat, circular snowballs they'd perfected in primary school during many a noon recess, and she didn't stand a chance.

"You set me up!" She shrieked, although her words were obscured with laughter. Staggering off the path, she approached their fortress, arms held aloft to hold off the onslaught of powdery fluff.

Their parents came along upon witnessing this from the safe distance of the millpond, George walking with the ungainly hobble of one that has just removed their skates. "Girls, your mother says it's time to go home for-"

At that moment, Violet let a particularly potent snowball fly. It veered severely off target, hitting their father square in the chest and causing him to fall backwards. The next second seemed like an eternity to the girls on the offense, for they could already foresee their punishment. All was quiet as the detective lay sprawled out in the snow, incoherently groaning with discomfort.

Emily stood apart, gloved hands clasped to her mouth and eyes impossibly wide. The situation was just too much; the mother of five pitched forward and began to laugh hysterically, her mirth dissipating in the frigid winter air.

 **November 1925**

"William, this isn't a party we can just invite ourselves to," Julia reminded him as they sat in the patio of their favorite cafe. Then, encouraging him to focus on something other than the venue across the street, she passed him her flask underneath the table.

He was a man of principles who was unknown to indulge in the drink, but he knew his wife better than that. Tipping his head back, his lips were greeted with nothing but strawberry cordial. If there'd been any alcohol in the home, he'd be obliged to disapprove as their province had long since adopted a policy of prohibition, but their little games pervaded, including a monthly tryst with the green fairy. Nevertheless, he was slightly sullen about the whole affair, and crossed his arms to show it. "I've been counting on this dinner to catch up with George's family. We've been so busy that we've seldom had time with our godchildren. And Felix seems to be getting awfully serious about their Rose. He mentioned her plans to go work for Mrs. Dewar and I didn't know a thing about it."

She clicked her tongue. "No one's going to begrudge you dedication to your work. I seem to remember Thomas running into similar difficulties."

The lady was referring to, of course, the late Inspector Brackenreid, a dear friend that they both missed terribly. How was it that only a few years ago he had enough energy to tussle with his young son, and now that very same boy was considering marriage? Thumbing the cup of tea before him, William recited, "I grow old, I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled…"

Suddenly exceedingly determined, Dr. Ogden pushed her chair back from the table, removed several notes from her billfold, and slammed them down. "As much as I'd love to sit here and listen to you recite Eliot, there is something that needs to be done to satisfy both your curiosity and mine. Shall we?"

And they were off together, into the bowels of the public gymnasium where Sage Crabtree's sixteenth birthday celebration was being held. The music was frenetic, unlike the ragtime of their younger years, with several trombones and a clarinet squawking from a makeshift stage. A trumpeter and cellist stood alongside them, playing with all their worth. The electric lights had been dimmed, and streamers had been held from every receptacle. There were a copious amount of chairs and tables scattered around for guests, but nary a chair was occupied as upwards of one hundred young people covered the floor. It seemed that all of the girls' closest friends and acquaintances had turned out for the hop. The girls wore copious amounts of false pearls and dark makeup, while their escorts were clothed in checkered or striped suits. Looking around, he spotted Emily and George standing at the opposite end of the room engaged in conversation, and quickly began to plot his exit.

But there was something about the way the singer, who he quickly recognized as Henry and Rebecca's son Seth, belted out the lyrics without use of an amplifier. He kept time by tapping his foot and snapping, a small smile on his face as his friends shimmied around him: _"Good people, we got that rhythm tonight-"_

At last the birthday girl took notice of their new arrivals and approached them, her beaded skirt creating a waterfall of sound as she walked. Neither had ever seen her in such finery, from the feathered boa wound around her neck to her new white patent leather heels. "Uncle William, would you like to dance?" She asked, breathless from her own turn.

"I don't think so, Sage. I've never been that good at dancing," he replied, trying not to notice his wife tittering at his side.

"Don't be ridiculous, I've seen you dance the waltz a thousand times. And this isn't much different or altogether that hard; you ought to watch Rose." And without another word, she led him into the circle of young adults, leaving a very amused Julia in their wake.

They found George's second daughter in a group of girls, all kicking and turning about their partners. Felix offered him a conciliatory nod, and William was of the opinion that he hadn't seen his son so happy in a long time. Even with the added encumbrance of his leg brace, he imitated the steps, his weight placed more heavily on one side as he did so. The inspector was encouraged by this, bowing his legs and swiveling his ankles in time with the music.

It wasn't long before the young people took notice of this; rather than poking fun, they seemed supportive of an old dog learning new tricks. From a boy in Violet's British history lecture at university, he learned to lift his arms with every step; Holly's laboratory partner instructed him to tap his toe on the ground with every iteration. Soon, Murdoch was producing an almost passable facsimile of the fashionable dance, laughing all the way.

The song changed abruptly as a few of the brass players set off to rest their faces; to William's surprise, the guests had begun to pair off and perform an entirely new dance, one involving complicated lifts and slides; he even saw Sage's partner flip her over his shoulder, placing her solidly on the ground from behind. Julia was there instantly, but to his relief, she didn't insist that they lindy hop across the floor. Together they slipped into a comfortable waltz, the very same they'd learned together unintentionally in a dance class all those years ago. It was at war with the frantic beat of the music, but she still lowered her lips to his ear and whispered the words along with the vocalist: _"Everybody loves my baby, but my baby don't love nobody but me…"_

 **September 1930**

"I don't understand why this is so important," Rose griped as she ascended the steps to the family home. Through the windows, which were as of late unfortunately bare, she could just make out the soft glow of lamplight through the dining room. Ordinarily, such a gathering would have filled her with joy, but now it only summoned a deep-seated feeling of dread in her gut. She was weak from hunger and fatigue, but if she didn't work, they didn't eat, and seemingly no one was buying books as of late.

She never imagined that at the age of twenty-four she'd be the proprietor of her own business; indeed, just over a year ago, Mrs. Dewar had passed away, leaving her in full control of the neighborhood establishment Bel-Air Books. It was meant to be a temporary arrangement, as she was sure that her writing career would soon take off and she and her husband would be sitting pretty atop a mound of royalty checks. But then the American stock market had crashed.

It was never meant to affect the Canadian economy as much as it did, but almost overnight, the price of basic necessities nearly doubled and Felix was let go as a partner of his law firm. In that in between time, Rose leased out the two floors above the bookstore as flats for families who were fleeing the suddenly astronomical price tag on their sprawling suburban homes. She tried everything to sell her wares, taking drastic price cuts on her merchandise and sending her stories off to every publication imaginable. But the newspapers were too consumed with covering the growing state of poverty in their nation, and perhaps rightfully so. Every evening on the way home, Rose would pass the charity handout station, whose line snaked down the block and around the corner. Felix now spent his days toiling away as a public defender for the down and out, the insolvent businessmen who had defaulted on their loans or the building owner who could no longer maintain utilities for his tenants. More often that not, he wasn't paid in currency, but in favors or odds and ends. Last month she came home to find a live chicken in their bedroom, payment for having filed bankruptcy papers for the neighborhood's milkman.

That was another thing; as their apartment fell into disarray and it became apparent the radiators would be out of service for the entirety of the winter, the couple had moved into the Brackenreid home. Violet and her new husband John had reign of one side of the second floor, as they were tasked with taking care of his aging mother.

By the time they'd arrived, the attic had been boarded up in a desperate attempt to save money. Her sister had steady work as a physician at the children's hospital, where most of her cases involved exposure and starvation. John, an active army captain, was relegated to keeping the peace at the Bank of Toronto in a time where perfect strangers might as well rip each other apart to get to the clerk's last handful of change. Yet as hard as they worked, it was never enough to keep up with rising prices of nearly everything-bank employees had even go as far to harass poor Margaret Brackenreid in the middle of the day when none of them were home. They found her in the sitting room later that night, clutching the summons to her chest and complaining of feeling faint. Her late husband's pension long since gone in incidental expenses, the elderly woman felt immensely guilty and incredibly useless. This was not her way.

"Let us listen to what she has to say," Felix said, holding the door open so she could step over the threshold. "If your mother has called us all together, it must be important."

Once inside, Rose was shocked to see how empty her former home looked. The plush armchairs in the sitting room were gone, probably sold to pay down the mortgage. Aunt Azalea's piano, which her father had gone to great lengths to transport there from Newfoundland, was not in its place, as was the heirloom sofa that had been passed down through their mother's family. Vaguely, she recalled playing hide and go seek in that room as a child, and laughing uproariously to see her father stuck underneath it. Now these memories were little more than a wisp of sentiment with nothing tangible to tie them to.

Sage met them in the foyer, wringing her hands over and over together. She gestured to the dining room and they followed her, noticing just how gaunt and pale the former shop girl had gotten in the space of several months. The cost of living in Chicago was sizable, and crime abounded; therefore, she'd moved back in with her parents just shy of her twenty-first birthday. Now, with many department stores in the city shut tight, Sage sought work anywhere, and was of yet out of luck. She no longer wore her hair in bobbed curls, or applied makeup in the most eye-catching styles. Indeed, Rose's youngest sister was weighed down with guilt as to their family's financial state, and it was only going to get worse.

When they entered the room, most of everyone was already seated. Their father rose quietly and embraced the two of them. George had managed to maintain most of his genial mannerisms, but this was difficult when one was constantly reminded of the tragic state of the city. While he'd been nearly entirely dark-headed at the time he'd accepted his appointment at William Murdoch's retirement party, just four years later his hair had turned gray with the stress of his daily work.

Dr. Grace soon entered the room alongside her oldest daughter and her husband, who must have gone ahead sometime before them. Holly was last to arrive, setting a bottle of wine onto the table and remarking that they would soon run out of spirits. The former middle child had only just managed to hold onto her job as a secretary; the two other girls within her office had been let go. Kissing Rose briefly on the cheek, she sat to one side of her and crossed her arms confrontationally.

Bidding their hellos to one another, the family dug into the meal without so much as an attempt at a prayer. There was no use in hiding the fact that she was ravenous; Rose used her fingers to tear into her dinner roll and scarf it down, before obtaining a slice of roast beef from the center of the table and attacking it with her fork. Felix had yet to catch on to the fact that she had the habit of skipping the first two meals of the day to save on food costs, and he didn't _need_ to know. She was doing just fine.

"We called all of you here to let you in on a matter that's been in the works for quite some time," Emily began, dabbing at her mouth delicately with a napkin. The city's coroner had to be tired, as she and Rebecca now handled twice the number of cases without a single assistant, but she didn't let her shoulders so much as droop. She was determined to stay strong for her girls at whatever cost.

Immediately, Rose knew that nothing good could come from this. Sage and Holly, who still lived in the home, averted their eyes. Their father sighed and seemed to shake himself off, before donning a broad smile and concluding, "We've decided to sell this home and move in with the Murdochs."

Violet's eyes grew wide and she nearly choked on her sip of wine. Her husband slapped her on the back, causing her to cough. At last she was able to rasp out, "I beg your pardon?"

In her head, Rose was a thousand miles away. She knew that over twenty years ago William had built their current home for Julia at some expense, fully automated and with room to grow. Perhaps her parent's financial state was even more dire than they had let on, and this was only confirmed by her mother: "It's more than big enough for six of us. This house was never the economical choice. We realize this now. Your aunt and uncle are both retired, and we ought to help them out."

No one was going to argue with that last part, but Holly was indignant to this most recent change, "We grew up in this place! This is our home!"

"All good things must come to an end, Holly. You know these are extenuating circumstances," George asserted, and for the first time she noticed the dark circles resting underneath his eyes. Inexplicably, she felt fearful in that moment for the safety of her parents, who were soon due to retire like the Murdochs. If this dreadful situation continued, how were they to maintain their lifestyle?

The twenty-two year old threw down her napkin and sat back once again. "Perhaps I'll move into a tenement and take my income with me."

Across the table, Violet cut in before their mother or father could reply to that thinly veiled threat. "Good luck finding an empty room that isn't taken up by a family compressed into one tenth of the space you'll have at the Murdoch home. No one will take you as is, because you're a single woman with a sweetheart."

"And we all know why she hasn't married Seth yet," Sage muttered under her breath.

That was it. The verbal _piéce de résistance_ , the icing on the metaphorical cake. Holly slowly rose from her chair and leaned over, hissing through clenched teeth, "How _dare_ you!"

But they all knew it was true. Seth Higgins was of mixed race, and a completely white man would have had difficulty finding a job as it was. The fact of the matter was they couldn't support one another, and that was an incredibly sore subject for the two of them.

From the end of the table came a loud clattering noise. Emily stood, mirroring her daughter's pose, her empty glass lying in a growing bloom of red wine. "Today would have been your sister's sixteenth birthday," she announced, before the situation could escalate.

The shop owner was shocked that in the rush of her daily routine she'd forgotten the date. Aster Crabtree was long since cold in the ground, having died of diphtheria five autumns ago. She'd been there as she took her final, shuddering breath, as had the rest of the family. They had all taken turns being inconsolable every day of the week for several months. Try as she might, Rose couldn't get rid of the mental image of that sweet little girl, all smiles and blithe giggles. When she'd gotten married three years ago, she pinned Aster's favorite broach on her sleeve, the one shaped like a butterfly. And though she had done so in secret, she knew that Violet had secured it to one strap of her brassiere while she walked down the aisle last summer. They always joked that as a baby she would perk right up at the sound of Irving Berlin's _Call Me Up Some Rainy Afternoon_ ; even now, the tune gave her pause, just as she always had to stop at Thompson's Creamery for a cup of her favorite neapolitan. After a particular grueling day at the store in which she had but a handful of customers, Rose intended to treat herself and had gone out of her way only to find that it had shuttered its doors, its proprietors moving to Buffalo to consolidate the family home. Standing before the shopfront bundled in a coat that was growing increasingly threadbare, she allowed the sentiment to rise within her until she could take it no longer and continued on her way.

Violet immediately ducked her head and halfheartedly dabbed at the growing stain on the tablecloth; no one but John was close enough to see that tears were welling up in her eyes. This troubled him, for his girl was normally tough as nails and emotionally strong to boot.

Softly, Sage exhaled, nervously smoothing down the front of her dress. "I'm sorry I said those things, mother."

The doctor finally relaxed, all the tension leaving her upper body. She sat, seeking George's hand under the table. He squeezed back and countered, "You ought to be apologizing to your sister."

This was just like old times; Holly and Sage, who were but eleven months apart in age, knew each other better than anyone and fought just as savagely. Quietly, she inquired, "Holly, could you forgive me?"

"If only you knew how hard I was trying to make this work-" She burst out, completely missing the point.

"We're all trying," Violet reassured in a quavering voice, one tear having streaked down the side of her cheek.

That was it. As her sister sat, Rose stood, muttering her excuse and tearing off in the direction of the staircase. She was followed very shortly by her husband, and nearly by her mother. Before Emily could push her chair back from the table, her oldest seized her arm and pulled her back down. The two physician exchanged deeply afflicted looks, but otherwise said nothing. A moment later, the family had resumed dinner in silence like nothing had happened.

Rose's feet took her on the practiced route to the bedroom she once shared with Violet, but at the last moment she turned to the left and entered the room where they'd first discovered Aster weak and pallored with fever. To the untrained eye, it appeared exactly how she'd left it. The family portrait, taken in the mere months before the sickness, had been moved from the table in the foyer to the dresser. One drawer was ajar, and from a distance she could see aprons and skirts handed down through five sets of hands folded meticulously. That was the end of her inspection, for the next moment Rose was face down on the bed, weeping into the finely embroidered pillows her sister had once taken great care for.

Seconds later, Felix entered, shutting the door behind him. Physical activity had always been difficult for the lawyer; even as he sat on the end of the bed, his leg jutted out at an unnatural angle. He hadn't spoken for the entirety of the dinner before now; rubbing circles on his wife's back, he encouraged, "Tell me what happened today."

She rose from prone position, shoulders still racked with sobs. As Rose gazed into the eyes of her husband, the one man who had been by her side since they were children, she found the courage to speak. "I spoke to my supplier about liquidating our stock and selling the bookstore."

"You can't do that," he responded automatically, drawing her close. "That isn't what Mrs. Dewar or you would have wanted. Bel-Air is your life, Rose. And don't try to tell me you don't love that place."

The tears subsided faster than she anticipated, leaving her with only the remnants of undignified sniffles. He was right, of course he was. "All I can write now is tragedies," she lamented, "and I can pen plenty of them, because I'm lucky if I have one customer before noon. I listen to our tenants' stories, and my heart aches because I know soon we will be like them. The store can't manage much longer, my dear, and neither can I."

All of a sudden he pushed away, holding her at arm's length. "Don't you dare say such things. You've got to keep going for yourself, for me, and for our family. What happened to the woman I married that was determined to make things work, whatever the cost?"

Rose wanted to say that she'd grown up, come to know how the world was and how it was never going to deal her a fair hand. How it was impossible for them to have children as long as this dreadful depression lasted, for she couldn't bear to bring them into a world where they might suffer. How she still loved him desperately, hopefully, and without end. And they would manage, they would muddle through, just as they always had.

"She's right here," Rose stammered, tucking her forehead into the crook of his neck as she'd done a thousand times before. "Oh, dear God, I'm so _scared_."

He was averse to admitting it, but he soon did. "Me too. But we will get through this, Rose, mark my words. We've got no choice."

And together they sat on the bed, wrapped in each other's embrace, and for upwards of ten minutes neither made a move towards the door. Finally, Felix took her hand and stood, pressing his lips to her temple. Rose knew what this meant, and followed him down the stairs.

"Is everything alright?" George asked, his voice tight. They nodded wordlessly and retook their seats. It seemed that in their absence the assemblage had come to some sort of understanding, for the atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed.

After an endless moment of silence, John Brackenreid rose and offered a toast. "To the next few months. There is a road, but there is no map."

Around the circle of the table, one by one, the family took a drink. And, surrounded by those they loved, they began to talk.

 **The End**


End file.
